Dare to hit Hunter's horse?

A week flew by in the blink of an eye since Hunter took down the thieves from the notorious thieves guild who dared to steal his precious astral coins. During this time, Hunter and Kolvar found themselves holed up inside the underground workshop, fully focused on their current task of transforming the devil's buttons into Hunter's special homemade brew. While they toiled away, the thieves guild dispatched their own members to search the tavern. Little did they know that Hunter and Kolvar were cleverly concealed in the hidden depths of the workshop, safely out of sight and beyond their reach.

Today marked the sixth day of their brewing endeavor, and it was also the sixth day since Hunter had set his plan into motion by activating the poison within Marina's body. His cunning strategy revolved around forcing the duke to exhaust all available means to cure Marina, only to meet failure at every turn. Hunter intended to swoop in at just the right moment, rescuing the young lady from her plight and earning himself substantial rewards from the grateful duke.

In Hunter's grand scheme, he envisioned acquiring the ownership papers for the very tavern they were hiding beneath, as well as some much-needed startup capital to kickstart his brewing business. It was a lucrative opportunity he couldn't pass up, especially after going through the trouble of procuring the potent poison from the mysterious system.

And so, as the days passed, Hunter patiently awaited the right moment to execute his plan while simultaneously perfecting his brewing techniques with Kolvar by his side. The underground workshop became a sanctuary for their ambitions as they diligently worked toward their goals, unaware of the thieves guild's futile search above ground.

Meanwhile, in the depths of the underground workshop, Hunter's attention shifted from his devious plans to the intricate process of crafting his special brew. Surrounded by stacks of wooden barrels and an array of copper tubes, he meticulously embarked on the delicate task at hand. With a determined gleam in his eyes, Hunter set to work, ready to transform the devil's buttons into a concoction that would leave a lasting impression.

Carefully, Hunter selected a handful of the devil's buttons, their crimson petals contrasting vividly against the dark, sinuous leaves. He admired their delicate beauty for a moment before placing them in a mortar and pestle. With a firm grip, he ground the petals and leaves together, releasing a pungent aroma that wafted through the air, tingling his nostrils.

Next, Hunter transferred the finely crushed devil's buttons into a large brewing pot, taking care to measure the precise amount. The pot, gleaming with a well-worn patina, was his trusted companion in countless brewing endeavors. He placed it over a roaring fire, adjusting the flames to achieve the perfect temperature.

"Kolvar, I need you to fetch the purified water from the storage barrels," Hunter instructed, his voice carrying a hint of authority. "Make sure it's filtered through the enchanted stones to rid it of any impurities."

Kolvar nodded, his expression determined, and hurried to fulfill Hunter's request. He darted through the workshop, navigating the maze of barrels and equipment until he reached the designated storage area. With nimble hands, he uncorked one of the barrels and carefully filled a series of glass containers with the crystal-clear water, making sure to handle them with utmost care.

As the pot heated up, wisps of steam rose, carrying with them the distinct fragrance of the devil's buttons. Hunter's experienced hands reached for a wooden spoon, long and weathered from years of stirring bubbling concoctions. He stirred the mixture with practiced motions, the liquid swirling and simmering under his guidance.

With a nod of satisfaction, Hunter moved to the array of wooden barrels lined up against the wall. Each barrel had its purpose, serving as vessels for the fermentation process that would bring his brew to life. He selected one, noting the subtle scent of oak that emanated from its aged exterior. It was the perfect vessel to impart depth and character to his creation.

Taking a copper tube, gleaming in the flickering firelight, Hunter connected it to the spigot of the brewing pot, ensuring a smooth flow from pot to barrel. As the liquid, infused with the essence of the devil's buttons, cascaded through the tube, a symphony of bubbling and gurgling filled the air. It was a delightful harmony, music to Hunter's ears.

He watched intently as the deep red liquid cascaded into the waiting barrel, filling it slowly, drop by precious drop. The scent of the devil's buttons mingled with other carefully chosen ingredients, creating an intoxicating bouquet that hinted at the wonders to come. Hunter knew that the true magic happened within the barrel, where time and nature would work their alchemical wonders, transforming the raw ingredients into a drink worth savoring.

As the barrel neared fullness, Hunter closed the spigot and gently tapped the wooden lid into place, sealing the vessel. The brew was now left to age, to mellow and evolve over time. Hunter smiled, knowing that patience would be rewarded.

With a sense of accomplishment, Hunter stepped back, surveying the scene before him. The workshop was filled with the aroma of brewing, a heady mix of herbs, spices, and the unmistakable presence of the devil's buttons. It was a testament to his craftsmanship, a labor of love that promised both intrigue and indulgence.

As Hunter admired the steady flow of the brew, Kolvar couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. He approached Hunter with an inquisitive expression on his face.

"Hunter, how long until the brew is ready to be served?" Kolvar asked, his voice filled with anticipation.

Hunter turned to face him, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Ah, Kolvar, the art of brewing requires patience," he replied. "The longer we let the brew ferment and age, the better it will become. We must give it time to develop its full flavor and character."

Kolvar nodded, understanding the importance of patience in their craft. "So, how long will it take?" he inquired further, his curiosity piqued.

Hunter paused for a moment, as if considering the question. "Well, my friend, it depends on the brew," he answered, his voice tinged with excitement. "For this particular concoction, I would say a minimum of three moons. But if we want truly exceptional results, we may need to let it mature for five moons or more."

Kolvar's eyes widened at the prospect of waiting for such a lengthy period. "Five moons? That's quite a long time," he remarked, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone.

Hunter chuckled, placing a reassuring hand on Kolvar's shoulder. "Trust me, Kolvar, the wait will be worth it. The flavors will harmonize, the aromas will deepen, and the brew will reach its peak of perfection. Good things come to those who wait."

Hunter's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he envisioned the day when his brew would be ready when he would share the fruits of his labor with those who dared to venture into his tavern. Until then, he would continue to refine his craft, tending to the barrels and nurturing the essence of the devil's buttons as they danced and mingled with the other ingredients, awaiting their grand debut.

As Hunter let the brew ferment, he went to the rack where he hung his black coat and put it on. The food he bought before starting the brewing potion a week before was only a bit left. So as much as Hunter liked to let Marina suffer with his poison a bit longer, he had no choice but to venture out. He hoped the asshole thieves had let go of their search for him.

"You're leaving?" Kolvar asked, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

As Kolvar closed one of the wooden barrels, preparing to follow behind Hunter, Hunter raised a hand to stop him.

"Stay here and crush the rest of the devil's buttons," Hunter instructed, his tone firm yet gentle. "I'll handle the matter with the duke myself."

Kolvar, who had grown fond of the brewing process and immersed himself in the intricacies, readily accepted the task, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Sure thing. I'll keep things going here. See you later, Hunter," Kolvar replied, his enthusiasm evident in his voice.

With a nod, Hunter turned and left the underground workshop, his footsteps echoing through the dimly lit corridor. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a handful of gleaming astral coins, securing them tightly in his grip. The weight of the coins, both tangible and metaphorical, reminded him of the importance of his mission.

As Hunter emerged from the underground workshop, he found himself immersed in the lively scene of Burling Street. The morning sun cast its golden rays upon the cobblestones, illuminating the vibrant hues of the surrounding buildings. The street came alive with a symphony of sounds, a harmonious blend of bustling activity and friendly chatter.

Merchants were hard at work, setting up their stalls and arranging their wares with meticulous care. The air was filled with the delightful aromas of freshly baked bread, exotic spices, and fragrant flowers, enticing passersby with their alluring scents. Colorful awnings stretched overhead, offering shade and shelter from the growing warmth of the day.

Locals, clad in a myriad of outfits representing different trades and social statuses, went about their daily routines. A jovial blacksmith hammered away at his anvil, sparks dancing in the air, while nearby, a group of children laughed and played an impromptu game of tag. The melodic clinking of coins exchanged hands as patrons haggled with street vendors over the prices of their goods.

Before making his way to the duke's manor, Hunter decided to retrieve his trusty horse from the nearby stable. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves and the distant whinny of horses filled the air as he traversed the lively street, his mind focused on the task ahead.

As Hunter casually strolled along, a tune escaped his lips, carried by the soft whistle of "Billie Jean." The vibrant energy of Burling Street enveloped him, the bustling atmosphere blending harmoniously with his upbeat demeanor. With each step, he neared the nearby stable, where his loyal black stallion awaited.

As he entered the stable, the familiar scents of hay and leather filled his senses. The muted sounds of horses shuffling and nickering echoed through the air, creating a soothing ambiance. Hunter's gaze scanned the stalls until his eyes landed on his majestic steed, standing tall and proud.

However, his attention was abruptly diverted as a commotion caught his ear. Turning towards the disturbance, Hunter's gaze fell upon a trio of drunken men, their loud voices slurring insults and laughter. Nearby, a red-haired girl stood, her expression filled with a mix of fear and defiance.

To Hunter's dismay, he witnessed one of the intoxicated men swing a broomstick at his beloved horse's face. The stallion recoiled in pain, its eyes wide with distress. Hunter's jaw clenched, his normally carefree expression hardening with resolve. The sight of his trusted companion being targeted ignited a protective fire within him.

"What the fuck do you three assholes think you're doing?" Hunter's voice boomed with an edge of anger, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint. He instinctively activated his God's eye, scanning the three rowdies to gauge their strength. As expected, their drunken state had rendered them feeble and vulnerable.

The raucous laughter died down as the rowdies turned to face Hunter, their faces a mix of surprise and amusement. The big, bald man with a menacing array of tattoos etched across his face stepped forward, his bulging biceps threatening to burst through the sleeves of his tattered shirt. Hunter's slim physique, a result of his current transmigration, seemed almost insignificant in comparison. But Hunter knew better than to judge a book by its cover; strength wasn't solely determined by appearance.

"Did you just call us assholes, you little shit?" the bald man sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance. His two companions, equally rough-looking with unkempt beards and scars etched on their cheeks, joined in the laughter, their mockery echoing through the stable.

As Hunter approached the scene, his eyes fell upon a nearby rack used by stable hands to sweep the hay. The red-haired girl, around the same age as Parker, looked visibly shaken by the thugs' aggression.

His black stallion, recognizing Hunter's presence, let out a relieved neigh, a bond formed in just a week's time. Hunter locked his gaze on the thug who had dared to strike his loyal companion with a broomstick.

"Didn't your bitch of a mother tell you not to hit helpless animals?" Hunter's voice dripped with disdain, momentarily stunning the thugs before their fury ignited.

"You fucking piece of shit! I'm gonna tear you apart!" the enraged thug bellowed, lunging at Hunter with malicious intent.

As the furious thug lunged towards Hunter with unbridled rage, Hunter's instincts kicked in. With nimble reflexes, he swiftly sidestepped the attack, causing the thug to stumble forward, his momentum working against him. Seizing the opportunity, Hunter's eyes gleamed with a calculated ferocity.

In a swift motion, he snatched the nearby rack, feeling its weight in his hands. With a chilling precision, Hunter unleashed a powerful swing, aiming directly for the thug's face. The jagged end of the rack connected with bone and flesh, piercing the thug's eye with a sickening squelch.

"ARGGHHHHHH!"

A cacophony of screams erupted from the terrified girl, her voice a symphony of shock and horror. Blood sprayed from the thug's maimed eye, staining the air with a gruesome reminder of the brutal encounter. The thug fell to his knees, clutching his face in agony, his anguished cries echoing through the stable.

In the midst of the chaos, the thug's anguished screams pierced the air, fueling Hunter's anger. Without hesitation, he snapped the rack in half, the sound of splintering wood resonating in the stable. With a surge of fury, he lunged forward, the jagged edge of the broken rack finding its mark in the thug's exposed throat. The thug's life was abruptly cut short as his body crumpled to the ground, lifeless and still. The stable fell into an unsettling hush, interrupted only by the shocked gasps of the red-haired girl and the thud of the thug's lifeless body hitting the ground.

Hunter's eyes blazed with a mix of righteous indignation and a touch of satisfaction. Though normally reserved, the audacity of these thugs had provoked an intense response within him. His horse, now safe from harm, looked on with a mixture of relief and admiration, as if understanding the bond that had formed between them in such a short time.

As Hunter stood over the fallen thug, a primal instinct surged within him. He could have easily unleashed a relentless barrage of blows, reducing the thug to a mere pulp, but instead, he chose to deliver a fatal strike. It was an act of dominance, a statement that no one could harm what belonged to him without facing dire consequences. Deep down, Hunter knew that his swift and lethal action would be justified in the eyes of the Duke, who would undoubtedly prioritize the safety of the man who would soon save his beloved daughter's life.